Ghost in the Garden

Enid stood by the fence, gripping a chipped mug that read, “If Mom says no, just ask Auntie.” Steam rose from her tea as she squinted at the sun setting over a wild, dying field. Her garden was a chaotic tangle of weeds.

Tomatoes she never planted burst through cracked soil, wrinkled and clinging to rusted, warped cages. Zucchini vines sprawled across the ground like tangled wires. The lone scarecrow, Jimmy, was slumped over with a missing arm, as if too exhausted to do his one job.

Once, this place was full of life. Kids darted between rows, friends planted seeds in the soil, and someone was always strumming a guitar or ukulele. Now, it was just Enid, a few stubborn greens, and her orange tabby cat Honeysuckle.

She turned to the rosemary bush by the shed—overgrown but still fragrant—and clipped a few sprigs with trembling fingers. She felt it again today: the way her thoughts drifted mid-sentence, like soap slipping through wet hands. She’d forgotten her niece’s name earlier. Did she even have a niece? Her mug indicated yes. She’d woken up in the shed a couple of days ago with dirt under her nails and no memory of how she got there. The doctor had told her not to panic. It might be manageable. That sometimes these things didn’t get worse.

But Enid knew better. She was 87 years old. She wasn’t losing memories—she was losing herself.

Something moved at the edge of the garden. She froze, rosemary still in hand. Not an animal, not the wind—just a quick, almost fluid shimmer of movement. She squinted toward the old compost bin, where shadows grew thicker along the tree line.

“Is someone there?” she called softly.

Nothing. But she had the strangest feeling—something was watching her. Not with menace, but curiosity.

She sipped her tea and glanced back at the empty beds. Maybe it was just another ghost in the garden, or her crumbling mind shaping a stranger out of the shadows.

“Come back tomorrow,” she called out into the field. “If you’re real.”

And somewhere beyond the fence, something flickered in response.

❦

Enid blinked awake to Honeysuckle loudly mewing and kneading the blanket draped across her torso. Both she and her joints groaned as she slowly sat up. She felt a warm breeze on her face.

“Honeysuckle, did you open the window again?” Enid asked as the cat continued to knead. The curtains fluttered in a gentle breeze that smelled like… rosemary? No, it was more than that. Something green, wild, and alive.

She padded toward the back door and slid her sandals over her thick purple socks. The chipped paint on the porch rail caught the morning light, and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat.

The garden was alive, vibrant, and sparkling with dew. Enid had to shake her head to confirm it was real. Beds were filled with various kales, lettuces, cucumbers, zucchinis, squash, and more. She had never seen tomatoes and strawberries this red. Even Jimmy stood upright, holding a makeshift arm made from a branch.

“I… don’t remember this,” she said aloud, to Honeysuckle, to whoever was listening. Honeysuckle curled around her legs and stared out into the overgrown field beyond the fence, tail flicking.

“I’ve either time-traveled or slept in for a few months,” she joked.

Somewhere beyond the fence, hidden among the darkness of the trees, a sound responded to her joke. It rose and fell like wind catching a bell—soft, clipped, and not entirely human—like a bird mimicking a laugh, unsure of what a laugh was. The sound faded almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving the air still, and her heart beating a little faster in her chest.

Enid walked through the garden, tears filling her hazel eyes. She knew she should ask someone for help with harvesting these magical crops, but she cursed herself for not remembering anyone’s name. Her fingers brushed against a marker in the dirt. It was a strip of bark engraved with a square spiral. Strange… Could it be fairies?

“Please, come out,” Enid called. “I won’t hurt you. I can’t hurt you even if I tried. I want to thank you.” She stood with her legs trembling, holding her breath in silence, waiting to hear chimes or some bird chittering, but nothing came. “I’m going to make us some tea, and I expect to see you on the porch in ten minutes.” She started to walk back to the door when she turned around. “And if you’re lucky, I’ll bring out some biscuits as well.”

Enid’s hands shook as she dropped tea bags into mugs. She wasn't sure what she expected. If this was a sign of her dementia, well, then she didn’t mind it. It was much more exciting than just forgetting things. She decided that whatever happened when she went back out there, she would accept it. She took a deep breath and pushed the screen door open with her shoulder to reveal… nothing. She looked at the shimmering garden, which seemed to flicker for a moment. Enid blinked and thought Jimmy was slumping again.

“Well, Enid, you’re officially a crazy old bat,” she muttered, setting the tea down on the grimy glass table.

She turned to head back inside the house when she sensed a presence behind her. It made her hair stand on end. Her silvery curls shot upward, resembling a dandelion seed head blowing in the wind. She spun to see a glowing mass floating at the bottom of the steps. It kept changing shape and color, and it filled her ears with pressure, as if she were underwater.

“No biscuits then?” she chuckled, and she heard that lovely mock laughter in response, like a recording of her voice giggling in the distance.

She hobbled over to a chair and sat down. Honeysuckle approached the radiant being and brushed against it, purring loudly. The mass flickered, then turned pink.

“Well, if Honeysuckle trusts you, then I do, too,” Enid said as she lifted her mug and took a sip. She grabbed the other mug and held it up. “Sorry, this was the only other clean cup I had,” she said with a chuckle. It read, “Look at my kitties,” and had a picture of Honeysuckle and Professor Cornhusk, her late cat. “But I guess it doesn’t matter since you probably don’t eat or drink… the way we do, at least.”

The entity floated closer, still glowing with a pinkish hue. Enid wondered if it knew that pink was her favorite color. It drifted to the chair next to her and hovered there. She noticed her hair was still sticking up. The energy seemed to sense her discomfort because its glow dimmed, and slowly her hair fell back down around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as if the being might disappear if she spoke too loudly now.

A fragment of the glowing mass broke off and floated toward the kitty mug. It hovered above it as if soaking up the steam from the tea, then suddenly plunged into the hot drink. Enid nearly grabbed the mug to pour it out, like trying to save a fly from water. But before she could, the piece shot back up and drifted back to join the rest of its body. Enid looked at the kitty mug, and the tea was gone! The entity buzzed and turned green.

“It’s peppermint tea that I made myself. Do you like it?” Enid asked. The energy vibrated and began shrinking. A bolt of panic shot through her ribs, leaving her breathless. “Oh no, did I hurt you?”

The mass shrank and spun like a tiny electric cyclone as it quickly began to take shape. Enid squinted at it. It was completely black, like a shadow. Its features were impossible to make out because of her poor eyesight on the dim porch. Suddenly, two glowing green eyes looked up at her, then it meowed.

“Professor Cornhusk?” Enid said, dropping her mug. The large black cat jumped onto her lap and began purring—his weight, warm and familiar.

She gently stroked his shiny black coat, tears welling up in her eyes. “Are you real?”

Honeysuckle pawed at Enid’s feet, gazing up at her long-lost best friend. A strange, sad meow escaped her. Before the two cats could touch, the orange tabby ran back to the edge of the porch steps, hissing loudly. When Enid stood and looked beyond the garden, she saw two men in suits approaching her cottage. Professor Cornhusk sprang off the chair and hid behind her.

“Who… who are they?” Enid asked, squinting toward the garden’s edge. The black cat—or whatever it was—pressed hard against her legs, as if begging her not to move.

One of the men stayed behind in the garden, inspecting it, while the other approached her porch. His navy suit was spotless, and his dishwater blonde hair was slicked back, wet with gel. He removed his sunglasses and grinned at Enid. His teeth looked a little too straight, a little too white.

“Hello, ma'am,” he said. “I’m Agent Graves, and I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me.” Before Enid could respond, Honeysuckle hissed in reply.

“Agent of what?” Enid asked. Cornhusk pawed at her calves.

“I’m with a special branch of the NSA, ma’am,” he replied, crouching to extend his hand to Cornhusk. Honeysuckle swiped at the man’s arm, catching a claw in his immaculate suit. After freeing the cat’s claw, the agent stood again. “Protective, aren’t they?” He picked up the “Look at my kitties” mug and chuckled.

“Yes, they’re... besties,” Enid said, squinting at the man.

“It was here,” the other man called out to Agent Graves from the garden. He waved some kind of wand across the garden, and everything... fizzled out, leaving behind withered vines and a sad scarecrow. He picked up the marker and stuffed it into his breast pocket.

“No… please,” Enid whispered.

“Did... something visit you yesterday or today?” Agent Graves asked Enid. “Did it make this garden for you?” Enid was still struggling to accept that the garden wasn’t real, her mouth opening and closing without words.

All she could finally say was, “I don’t know.”

“You didn’t notice this garden?” Agent Graves pressed her. The other agent stepped onto the porch, holding a beeping device in his hand.

“Something? Who are you?” Enid asked, her voice rising.

“Sir, I think she has dementia or is impaired in some way,” the other agent said.

“I’m not impaired enough to know that you need a warrant to be on my property,” Enid said. “I don’t know what that beeping doohickey is, but it’s upsetting my cats. Nothing harmful has visited me here until you two showed up. I’m kindly asking you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Agent Graves said with a perfect yet unsettling smile. “We’ll be back tomorrow with a warrant. Please give me a call if something does show up.” He dropped his card onto the table.

“Care to explain what this something is, or is it classified?” Enid didn’t want to hand this entity over to these men, but was curious about what it was.

“It’s something we created,” Agent Graves said. “Something that evolved beyond our control and escaped, and we need it back before it unintentionally harms someone.”

“To destroy it?”

“That depends on what it becomes.”

“What could it become?” Enid said.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” the other agent said.

The two men nodded and walked away through the barren garden, across the thick field, and vanished into the shadow of the trees. Enid sank into her chair and sighed, “Professor Cornhusk,” jumping onto her lap again.

“I guess you’ve evolved even more since you’ve been here, huh, Corny?” she said as she brushed her stiff fingers across his ears. “I think it’s time you told me who you are.”

The black cat jumped off her lap and ran to the door with a soft, stuttering chirp. Enid pushed the door open, and the cats rushed into the house. She turned to glance at her once again sad garden.

Once inside, Enid locked the door behind her and sat down on her couch. Cornhusk padded silently over to her and stared, unblinking. How could she ask him to explain himself?

“Why did you make that garden? Who are you? How were you created?” questions spilled from her lips. The black cat kept staring, still and silent. “Please tell me however you can.”

Something shifted, not in the room but in her mind. A low hum vibrated behind her eyes and spread through her body, almost like being caught in a summer thunderstorm—exciting yet pleasant. The room blurred at the edges until it was gone.

❦

She was standing in a garden she had forgotten years ago. Flowers bloomed in every direction, none of them hers. She looked around, struggling to remember why it felt so familiar. Someone had taken her for walks here, but who? She reached out to touch a white rose when she realized her hands no longer looked like the gnarled roots of a tree. They were smooth and young, with nails painted bright red, like strawberries.

“Enid?” a voice called from behind her. She turned around and saw him—Charlie—in his favorite flannel and worn blue jeans. He was smiling, hands in his pockets, acting like he’d been waiting there for her all along.

Enid’s hands flew to her mouth. “Charlie?” she called out, rushing toward him. “Is that really you?”

“No,” he said, still smiling. He ran his fingers through his brown curls. She remembered how soft they were. She also remembered how rough his hands were and how she didn’t mind.

“Then I’m dreaming?” she asked, her throat tightening. “Or dead?”

“You’re remembering,” Charlie said and laughed the way he always did, with his whole body.

“I’m not sure if I want to remember,” Enid said, her voice trembling. “I loved you my whole life. I never let you go until my stupid brain made me. I didn’t want to.”

“I know.”

He came over, took her hand in his, and kissed it. They strolled through the garden hand in hand, and Charlie picked a sprig of rosemary, lifting it to Enid’s nose so she could smell it.

“I also know that’s your favorite scent and that it confused Charlie,” he said as he led her to a bench, gesturing for her to sit. “The government created me, but didn’t expect me to learn so quickly. I wanted to absorb as much as I could. I needed to enter the real world to keep learning, but they wouldn’t let me. Eventually, I found a way out. No matter how much I absorb, I still don’t fully understand human emotions. I’m sorry if I alarmed you. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You didn’t,” Enid said, lifting her hand to trace her fingers down Charlie’s jaw. “I hope I was able to help you. Seems like Honeysuckle helped a bit too.”

They both chuckled before falling silent. She didn’t want to leave this place. Could she stay here? If she left, would she forget Charlie again?

“You won’t forget him,” Charlie responded as if he had heard her questions.

“How did you?”

“I’m in your head,” Charlie smiled. “If you’d let me, I could fix you forever, or for as long as you are alive.”

“So, I’ll also remember all the… pain?”

Charlie nodded and squeezed her hand. A silence fell between them, heavy yet fragile.

“Do it.”

It wasn’t sudden or painful. It felt like someone unraveling knots, one by one, and with each one, a memory returned. Names she hadn’t thought of in years. Abigail, her niece. Faces she loved. Faces she hated. She remembered how to bake her grandmother’s pound cake. A song Charlie used to sing terribly. She remembered how he died.

“Thank you,” she sobbed, pressing her hand to her heart.

“Thank you for teaching me love,” she heard Charlie’s voice fade in her mind.

❦

Enid sat on the porch with a mug that read, “Watch out for the crazy plant lady!”, warming her hands. Honeysuckle sat in her lap, and “Professor Cornhusk” sat on the steps, gazing into the field. Waiting. She looked at her lifeless garden, no longer filled with ghosts she couldn’t remember. Now, it was bursting with memories.

The men arrived, and Enid rose as Corny padded down the steps. She didn’t try to stop him. She didn’t even cry. Halfway down the path, he stopped, looked back at her, and gave a single blink. A soft light, warm and pink, pulsed three times, and he was gone.

Agent Graves nodded as the other agent put his wand thing back into his pocket.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Agent Graves said, like she had just paid a parking ticket. He put an envelope on the table that Enid guessed was the warrant. “Did it leave anything else with you?”

“Yes,” Enid said, her voice steady. “And you can’t take it back.”

His lips parted like he might argue, but Enid’s face made him think better of it. The men turned and walked away.

Enid stayed on the porch long after they left, gazing out at her garden, thinking she could replant and start over. She sipped her tea, watching Honeysuckle chase something in the weeds. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, breathing in the scent of rosemary. Her mind was clear—and for now, that was enough.